


The Galaxy's Most Wanted

by saltnhalo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Angry Sex, Blow Jobs, Enemies to Lovers, Fandom Trumps Hate, Frottage, M/M, Space Pirates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2019-04-06 15:58:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14060421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltnhalo/pseuds/saltnhalo
Summary: Dean had been the one always up to mischief, running around with his father’s broken laser pistol and constantly getting into places he shouldn’t have been. Sam, in comparison, always seemed to be the smart, studious one – until he reprogrammed the AI in their neighbours’ house to play ‘Happy Birthday’ at the loudest possible volume while keeping all the doors and windows firmly locked. It had taken two experts seven hours to undo the coding that Sam had managed to integrate into the house’s programming.So, yes. They had been exceptional even from the beginning. And when John Winchester crossed one too many people, his sons inherited his beloved ship, and took to the cosmos doing what they knew best: stealing.And they were damn good at it too. Almost unrivalled, across their own galaxy and even those neighbouring.Almost.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [A_Diamond](https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Diamond/gifts).



> I'm so glad that I had the opportunity to write this for the lovely A_Diamond for the 2018 Fandom Trumps Hate auction! I had an absolute blast writing this fun, sexy, exciting little fic. Inspired in parts by Star Wars, Guardians of the Galaxy, Firefly, etc. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Dean whoops as he pulls the ship into a sickeningly tight spin, dropping fast and weaving back and forth with the ship’s trajectory to get away from the Intergalactic Feds breathing down their necks. In the co-pilot’s seat beside him, Sam holds his stomach as he keeps an eye on the ship’s readings, looking a little pale. He’s definitely not the brother with the thirst for danger and adventure – not like Dean.

There’s a reason Dean’s the captain of their little ship: it has something to do with the powerful battery cores currently stashed in the ship’s hold, personally butchered from the debris of a Feds’ ship that had come up on their radar. It had been a no-brainer for Dean – those things sell for a huge amount of money – but the Feds who had turned up to rescue their colleagues had been less than pleased with the development.

Which is how Sam and Dean have found themselves here, hurtling through space at a sickening speed and dodging the intermittent laser blasts of the remaining Feds’ ship.

They’re slowly pulling away, the (more than a little illegal) adaptations that they’ve made to the Impala and her engines giving them an edge over the law-abiding Feds. Dean knows that they’ve won when the comms crackles, and the irate voice of High Commander Michael comes filtering through in tinny tones.

“You fucking Winchesters. We’ll get you – there’s nowhere in space that you can hide from the officers of the Federation!”

It’s all bluff and no substance – as long as they don’t get stupid, the Feds will never be able to catch them. Both sides know this.

He grins as he presses the button to answer. “Suck my dick, Commander,” he retorts with a grin, then turns their comms off and shifts the Impala up into yet another gear. They pull away even further, until eventually they’re on their own, the Feds no longer posing a threat.

Finally out of danger, Sam stumbles over to the waste incinerator and throws up.

~ 

The Winchesters hadn’t always been junkers, but anyone who had known them as children would not have been surprised to learn what became of them.

Dean had been the one always up to mischief, running around with his father’s broken laser pistol and constantly getting into places he shouldn’t have been. Sam, in comparison, always seemed to be the smart, studious one – until he reprogrammed the AI in their neighbours’ house to play ‘Happy Birthday’ at the loudest possible volume while keeping all the doors and windows firmly locked. It had taken two experts seven hours to undo the coding that Sam had managed to integrate into the house’s programming.

So, yes. They had been exceptional even from the beginning. And when John Winchester crossed one too many people, his sons inherited his beloved ship, and took to the cosmos doing what they knew best: stealing.

And they were damn good at it too. Almost unrivalled, across their own galaxy and even those neighbouring.

 _Almost_.

~ 

They get the distress beacon when the lights are low and Sam is asleep in his bunk, with Dean on watch. It’s been a quiet few days – the Feds still haven’t been able to locate them, thanks to Sam’s cloaking shields, so they’ve evaded capture, but they also haven’t had much luck in the way of finding jobs.

Dean is fiddling with the mechanisms in his Recon-Bot, the pieces spread across the console of the ship, when the comms beeps. So far, all they’ve had are distress calls from ships too close to the reach of the Feds to board. Assuming this will be the same, Dean doesn’t let up work on the bot, but keeps part of his attention on the comms as he tightens a bolt in the bot’s chassis.

 _Automated cargo vessel_ Leviathan _has struck an asteroid, co-ordinates 42, 162, 53. Intergalactic Federation responding, current co-ordinates 76, 50, 121._

And that gets Dean’s attention.

They try not to harm or kill people if possible, preferring to go after the ships that are already damaged or abandoned and loot them. On the occasions that they’ve been commissioned to steal something specific from a certain ship, they do it as quickly and bloodlessly as they possibly can. An automated cargo ship like this? If it’s unguarded, there can’t be anything _too_ valuable on board, but it’ll still bring them some income if they can get to it before the Feds.

Dean quickly packs up the parts of the Recon-Bot and pushes them aside, then settles back into his pilot’s seat. They’re closer than the Feds are right now. If they really try, they can make it.

They’re still a little while away, though, even with Dean pushing the Impala as fast as he dares. Too much time spent in high-velocity can damage her, but he knows her well enough to recognize the fine line. Sam joins him once they’re halfway, rubbing at his eyes but already donning his headset and slipping on the v-gloves that will provide him access to any online interface he wants.

Dean feels the spark of adrenaline in his gut, and it only grows brighter as they approach. Soon, they can see the hulking form of the vessel silhouetted darkly in the stars. It’s bigger than Dean had expected, and he focuses on piloting them closer as Sam pulls up the ship’s info on a holo-screen and whistles. “Damn,” he says, “there’s some serious stuff on here. Most of it is your run of the mill cargo, but there’s some weaponry and some resources in that hold that we’d be able to sell for a pretty fuckin’ penny.”

Dean’s heart rate kicks up a notch, but he forces himself to keep the Impala back until Sam can run a more detailed diagnostic of the _Leviathan_. He watches his brother, fingers twitching on the joysticks, as Sam stares at the screen hovering just before his eyes. He frowns, and in turn, Dean’s stomach sinks. That’s never a good sign.

“The ship’s weapons systems aren’t damaged, they all look intact, but… they’ve been shut down by an external force. And… something might be scrambling my signal, I don’t know, but… it looks like the hold door is open?”

What the fuck is going on? The asteroid couldn’t have struck the ship hard enough to have downed all its inbuilt weaponry, and it certainly couldn’t have opened the hull door.

Which means…

“ _Fuck!_ ” Dean shouts, shoving forwards on the joysticks. Sam yelps as he’s slammed back into his seat, but Dean doesn’t care right at this moment, because he knows what’s happened, he knows who’s come.

And, lo and behold, just as they come around the other side of the vessel, a ship emerges.

One that Dean recognizes.

It’s sleek and streamlined, painted dark grey and silver in contrast to the _Impala_ ’s black, and it’s the bane of their fucking existence. Desperate, and knowing that their opportunity is quickly escaping them, Dean shouts out to Sam, who connects Dean to what he needs with a few quick waves of his hands at the holo-screen.

Dean clears his throat and presses the comms button. “Vessel _Angel_ ,” he grits out, trying his best to alter his voice. “Stand down, I repeat, stand down. This is the vessel _Lightbringer_ , of the Federation. Stand down.”

The illusory shields Sam threw up to make their ship look like one of the Federation’s are doing their job, but there’s no way of telling whether the pilot of the _Angel_ managed to see the _Impala_ for what it is before he could get them in place. Regardless of that fact, it seems that they were doomed to fail anyway. The comms crackles again, and a smooth, deep chuckle emanates out of the speakers above the console. It may have a tinny quality to it, but it still sends tingles down his spine.

“Nice try, Winchesters. A little bit slow on the uptake to this one. That’ll just have to be payback for last week, when you stole those batteries out from under my nose, hmm? Pretending to be with the Federation was a cute trick, but I recognize your voice.”

He can almost hear the smug smile through the comms.

“Until next time, Dean.”

~ 

Castiel Novak.

Dean doesn’t know much about him, apart from the fact that he’s whip-smart, almost as daring as Dean himself, and has a voice that could give a sex-bot a run for its money. He’s conned them out of as much loot as Dean has managed to get from him, putting them on an even playing field.

While it’s frustrating to lose so much loot to the only thief in the galaxy who could best the Winchester brothers…

Dean has to admit, he enjoys the games, the back-and-forth. He can’t imagine what the job would be like without that excitement, without having someone who could actually come close to besting Sam and Dean.

He won’t ever admit to another human soul that he’s spent a large amount of his sleep-time staring at the ceiling above his bunk and imagining what Castiel Novak looks like. All he has to go off are their interactions over the comms and the barest amount of information that Sam has been able to pull from the Federation’s database. The Feds have never come close enough to catching the guy to get an image of him, not unlike Sam and Dean, but Dean makes do.

He likes imagining. Putting different faces, different bodies to that voice. But god knows he’s pretty damn curious to see if any of his speculations come even close to the real thing.

Dean shakes his head to clear it, and rests his elbows on the console. Now is not the time to be thinking about Novak, not while they’re watching the rear thrusters of the _Angel_ quickly fade into twin pinpricks and then disappear altogether.

Motherfucker.

~

Sam and Dean have pulled in a couple of hauls since the _Leviathan_ slipped away from them, have looted from space junk and held up a poorly-defended cargo ship, but they haven’t come across anything major. They had had a close call with the Feds yesterday when Sam had been bartering away some of their stolen goods at the nearest trade centre, but since the Feds don’t have pictures of them – or any other information, considering how they’ve been almost completely off the grid their whole lives – Sam had managed to get away from the patrol without raising suspicion.

That’s been the most excitement they’ve had since the altercation with Novak, however, and Dean is getting antsy to say the least. He’s still seething over the fact that the weaponry was poached before they could even get close enough to have a fighting chance. He works his frustration out in the makeshift gym towards the rear of their small ship, spending hours on the treadmill or working the punching bag. The ship is kept in better maintenance than ever, and all Dean’s pet projects, including the Recon-Bot, are finally finished.

Dean may also work out his frustration in different ways, in the shower cubicle or in his bunk while Sam is keeping watch. There’s only so much Dean can do, living on a ship with his brother and with few opportunities to get more action than just his hand. If that deep, gravelly, _smug fucking voice_ is what’s doing it for Dean lately, well. Who is he to resist?

But the fact remains that the days pass without much activity.

They’re watching a shower of comets, Dean with his feet kicked up on the ship’s console, when he broaches the topic. “You ever get sick of just looking at my ugly mug, day in, day out?” he asks Sam.

His brother chews his mouthful of rehydrated chili and swallows. “Well, yeah,” he replies, pushing his spoon around his bowl and watching the comets streak across the star-speckled blackness. “It can be kinda tedious being around you all the time, but it’s worth it for this, right?” He waves a hand in a general, all-encompassing gesture, then levels a glare at Dean. “Even if I fucking _hate_ your flying sometimes, you psycho.”

Dean just grins, resting his head back against his pilot’s chair. Sam continues, his voice a little more serious, and turns his attention back out the front window. “I do also get to talk to people when I go to sell our loot, though. The black market deals aren’t as fun, but the normal stuff? I get to talk to people who aren’t you, which is pretty refreshing.  You could come with me sometime.”

They both know that’s not really an option. Even without the Feds having much information on them, the two of them walking around with stolen goods is too risky. And after the first few times that Dean had tried his hand at bartering and it had almost ended in a fistfight, they’d figured it would be easier for Sam to take care of all that.

The silence stretches out between them, punctuated only be Dean’s quiet sigh. Eventually, Sam sets his empty bowl aside and looks over at Dean, lips lifting in a smirk. “There’s always porn,” he teases, and Dean throws his spoon at his brother.

“Not what I meant, jackass.”

The comms beeps, and they both go quiet, Sam frozen in his retaliation before he can launch his own spoon at Dean in revenge. This is more important than brotherly squabbling.

 _Mayday, mayday, cargo vessel_ Diamond Horizon _has lost both engines due to a spreading fire. Crew is evacuating, calling for the Federation to secure invaluable cargo. Co-ordinates 281, 15, 311._

Sam pulls up a map with a flick of his finger to confirm what they both already suspected; the stranded cargo ship is right next to a port. Anyone would be able to travel through and get to them. They just have to beat the Feds there.

Dean grins as he shoves away the remnants of their dinner and turns the ship away from the comet shower. “Hold onto your lunch, Sammy,” he says, and slams forward on the joysticks.

~

They make it to the closest port as quickly as they possibly can, but precious minutes have still elapsed. Sam is looking into the history of the _Diamond Horizon_ with one hand while hacking into the port’s network with the other so that their jump can’t be traced.

“This ship’s had some expensive stuff in its hold. Art, jewels, technology, you name it, it’s been there. Whatever it’s holding right now, we need to get there before the Feds do.”

The _before Novak, too_ hangs in the air, unspoken. Dean flips a few switches and pushes forward on the handle by his right elbow, apologizing silently to his baby as the engines judder in protest. They have to make it.

The spiraling whirl of the port is approaching ahead; there’s nothing but an old fuel tanker nearby, doing barely a fraction of the Impala’s speed. “Port in three, two, one,” Sam warns, and they both grit their teeth against the second of sickening re-orientation as they pass through the bright, circular structure, coming out on the other side of the port Sam has chosen for their destination.

Dean takes a second to swallow down the bile rising in his throat. It’s never a good idea to make a jump at such high speed, but if they want any chance of getting to the stranded ship before the Feds, then it was a necessary evil.

Just ahead of them, the _Diamond Horizon_ drifts, blocking out the stars behind her. She’s well-made and sleek, deserving of her name, and Dean takes a second to marvel at her construction before he takes a closer look. There’s smoke spiraling out from one of the rear engines, drifting lethargically out into space, and all the escape pods look like they’ve been ejected. They’re nowhere to be seen now, but that suits the Winchesters just fine.

“Get us in closer,” he tells Sam, who flips back his headset and turns off his v-gloves with a touch of pinkie and thumb, then moves to take over the controls. Now is Dean’s time to shine, and he zips his navy jumpsuit up to his throat as he leaves the cockpit.

The airlock is close to the rear of the ship, and Dean preps it for use with a few taps on the keyboard beside the door. Their two helmets are still hanging on the wall on the other side of the door, but first Dean pulls on his tool belt, making sure that everything he might need is in there. Laser gun, explosives, unlocking mechanism, illusory patch-ins, and the Recon-Bot that he’s going to get to try out for the first time today – among other various items. Satisfied that everything is where it should be, Dean clips the belt around his waist, tucks an earpiece in his right ear, then reaches for his helmet.

Through the airlock’s windows, the exterior of the _Diamond Horizon_ approaches – Sam may not be as good at the gung-ho escape piloting as Dean, but he’s not too shabby with the precision stuff. Once they’re in as close as possible, Dean pulls his helmet on, presses the button that will activate the containment field, then opens the first door.

Anticipation pulses through his blood as he steps into the airlock and hears the door close behind him. There’s a weird, weightless sensation as the compartment depressurizes, and then the outer door is sliding open, and suddenly Dean is floating adrift in space.

He anchors himself with a hand on the airlocks railing, braces his feet against the wall behind him, and _pushes_. It takes barely any effort at all to float out of the _Impala_ ’s airlock and over to the _Diamond Horizon_. Once Dean gets close, he flips himself mid-air and, just before his feet make contact with the surface of the other ship, knocks his heels together to activate the grav-anchoring.

Dean’s boots anchor solidly onto the surface of the other ship. Seeing that he’s docked safely, Sam eases the _Impala_ a little further away. The last thing they want to happen is for the two ships to collide on accident.

As of now, Dean’s alone.

Well, _mostly_ alone.

“You realize we’re running a little short on time, right?”

Sam’s voice in his ear may be a little grainy, but Dean can still hear the bitchface in his brother’s words. He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I’m aware. Give me a fuckin’ break, you’re not the one walking around in space right now.”

He can tell that Sam is itching to fire back a retort, but they’re working right now, and so Dean’s earpiece stays silent – thankfully. Still, Dean doesn’t waste any more time, quickly orienting himself on the ship’s surface. It’s much bigger than the _Impala_ , all sleek, silver metal.

Sam better have dropped Dean close to the hold – if he has to walk halfway across the surface of the ship to reach his target, he’s gonna throttle his brother.

Luckily, Sam seems to read his mind. “The hold door is just ahead of you. You should be able to get in through the access hatch next to the cargo door itself, and then you’ll be able to hack the door open from there and let me in.”

The _Impala_ hovers not far from the ship, and Dean sends a glare in Sam’s general direction. If the younger Winchester hadn’t been dicking around with the coding in his hacking program and fucked it up yesterday, Dean wouldn’t have to be wandering around on the ship’s surface and forcing his way through the access hatch – they could just hack open the bay door externally and fly right in.

There’s not much that can be done now, though, and their time is quickly running out. No use wasting it by complaining about how things should have gone. “Roger that,” he says instead, and starts the short trek to the hold door, his legs oddly weightless in the vacuum of space.

Sam’s sigh crackles through Dean’s headset as Dean reaches the access hatch. “Could you hurry things up? I don’t want to still be here when the Feds turn up.”

 _Now_ Sam is starting to get on Dean’s nerves. “Why don’t you shut up and let me do my damn job, bitch?”

He switches off their comms with a tap to the right side of his helmet before Sam can get out his reply of ‘jerk.’ That makes Dean feel slightly more uplifted as he turns his attention to the door in front of him. It’s locked, of course, but that shouldn’t be a problem. Dean plants his feet solidly on either side of the hatch and bends down to attach a small, circular device to the space beside the door’s lock.

Once Dean presses his thumb to the centre, it whirrs to life. Only a handful of seconds later, the red light turns green. The hatch opens when Dean spins the handle, and Dean slips the disc back into his pocket as he slips through the open door and pushed it closed behind him.

There are lights illuminating the hold, and Dean has a second to take in the crates and crates of cargo stored around the edges of the space before his gaze falls on the dark grey and silver ship docked in the centre.

The barrel of a laser pistol presses into Dean’s back, and he goes perfectly still. 

“I really thought you’d be more careful, Winchester.”

And there’s the deep, rumbling voice that Dean had expected (hoped for) when he’d felt the barrel of that gun.

 _Novak_.

Dean grits his teeth and starts to turn around, but the gun presses more insistently into Dean’s back. Not a good idea, then.

“Don’t move,” Novak growls. Dean’s throat bobs in a swallow. A few seconds pass, and Novak must be satisfied that Dean isn’t going to pull anything, because his next request is, “Turn around. Slowly.”

The gun disappears from Dean’s back, but he can still feel it trained on him, just like he can feel Novak’s gaze on the back of his neck. A shiver runs the length of his spine. He raises his hands – nothing funny going on here – and slowly turns on the spot, his heart in his throat, until he’s face to face with Novak.

For a second, he thinks that the pressurization in his containment area must have failed, because it feels like the breath has been stolen from his lungs.

Novak’s face is slightly distorted by the plastic of his helmet, but Dean can still make out his features – and while he’s considered the possibility that Castiel Novak may not live up to the fantasies he’s concocted in his head, he really shouldn’t have worried. Novak has the bluest eyes Dean has ever seen, hair that looks almost electrified, and a strong jaw lined with stubble that Dean would _really_ like to feel against his skin.

Fuck, this is _so_ not the time.

Castiel is staring at him with wide eyes, the pistol still loosely pointed at Dean’s chest. After a second, he seems to regain his composure, a muscle in his jaw flexing and his eyes narrowing. Still, there’s a spark of playful challenge in the depths of all that blue.

“And which Winchester have I had the pleasure to meet today?” Castiel asks, and Dean blinks. Of course – there’s only one of Castiel, but since Castiel has only heard his or Sam’s _voices_ , he has no idea what each of them look like.

He could lie, just to fuck with the man, but the game would be up as soon as Dean spoke – plus, he’d rather not make too many jokes while he’s staring down the barrel of a laser pistol.

Instead, he simply says, “I’m Dean. Think you could lower that gun, there?”

The corner of Castiel’s mouth pulls up, and Dean’s heart double-beats against his ribcage.

“Not a chance.”

The barrel of the pistol lifts to Dean’s chest, long fingers curling around the grip. Dean really hopes that Castiel won’t shoot him, considering the smile and the spark of interest in his eyes, but he’s not going to take that risk. He likes his chest intact as it is, without any smoking holes through it.

“Shoulda known you wouldn’t be far away,” he says.

Castiel raises an eyebrow. “I’m surprised the two of you didn’t come straight in through the hold door like I did, to be honest.” Goddamn, that smirk is doing things to Dean. “You’d certainly be on slightly more even footing here,” he points out with a small wave of his pistol.

“Fuckin’ Sam,” he mutters under his breath. If he makes it out of here in one piece, he’s going to kill his brother. “There’s not enough room in your ship to fit all this stuff, Novak. Surely you can let us take some of it this time.”

Castiel chuckles, rich and deep, and shakes his head. The lights in his helmet illuminate the curve of his cheekbones. “Nice try, Dean. Where would the fun be in that?”

Dean clenches his jaw and curses silently. As much as he enjoys this banter with Novak (and the hint of flirtation beneath), all this is doing is wasting time, damn it. The Feds could be here any minute now –

And Dean would have no idea, because his connection with Sam is muted.

 _Fuck_.

A lot of things happen in the few seconds that follow Dean’s chilling realization.

A sound can be heard from outside the hold. It draws Castiel’s attention for a fraction of a second, giving Dean a chance to drop a hand to his belt. His fingers close around the body of the Recon-Bot; he pulls it out, activates it, and drops it on the floor.

Castiel’s gaze and the aim of his pistol snap back to Dean, but the Recon-Bot is already emitting a shrill alarm – a warning of Federation ships nearby. The sound startles Castiel, the pistol swiveling towards the bot, and it gives Dean a chance to slap his hand against the side of his helmet.

Sam’s screaming fills Dean’s ears, just as an explosion rocks the ship and he staggers.

“—Feds are here, get the fuck out, Dean! it’s a trap, they started coming out of the ports just after you went in. I can’t stay much longer, they’re coming!”

Well, fuck. Now they’re boned.

“What’s going on?” Castiel demands, his pistol trained back on Dean’s heart and his eyes sharp and cold.

“I hear you, Sam, stop yelling,” Dean snaps quickly, then turns his attention back to Castiel. “We need to get out of here, now. The Feds are here, the whole thing is a set-up.”

A muscle in Castiel’s jaw jumps, but he doesn’t move otherwise, and Dean has to suppress a groan of frustration.

“This isn’t the fucking time! If you don’t believe me, check your own systems, but my brother and my bot are both telling me that if we stay here, we’re fucked.”

Castiel scowls, and he opens his mouth as though to argue when another blast rocks the ship. The Recon-Bot’s beep becomes even more shrill, and when Dean scoops it up and turns it off, they can definitely hear gunfire outside the ship.

“Time’s up,” Dean grits out, and this time, Castiel doesn’t argue. His eyes are steely now, not with dissent but with determination.

“Get in the ship,” he says, and before Dean can react, Castiel’s fingers are wrapping around his wrist and pulling him towards the _Angel_.

In any other situation, the feeling of those strong fingers on Dean’s skin would be incredibly distracting, but this situation is a little too serious to be letting his mind run away with him. He stumbles for the first few steps as Cas pulls him along, then quickly regains his footing. They end up running side by side, Castiel’s fingers still caught around Dean’s wrist as they sprint for his ship.

With his free hand, Dean touches his comms. “Sam, get out of here. Now,” he orders.

On the other end, Sam sounds frantic, panic and fear making his voice tight. “Who are you talking to? What about you, Dean? I’m not just gonna leave—“

“ _Go_ , Sam, that’s an _order_ ,” Dean snaps as they reach the ship. Castiel wrenches the door open. “I’m here with Castiel – Novak. He was in the hold. Getting out of here on his ship is my only option.” His last sentence is partially directed at Cas. “If he lets me die, I’m gonna be pissed.”

Castiel just rolls his eyes and jumps up into the ship. Dean follows and swings the door closed; Cas is already gone, disappeared in the direction of the cockpit.

“Are you sure, Dean?” Sam swears under his breath, and Dean shakes his head, even though Sam can’t see. Stupid stubborn brother. “Yes, I’m fucking sure, now get out of here. Don’t let ‘em get you, Sammy.”

There’s a moment of silence across the line.

“I’ll see you on the other side, Dean,” Sam says, and then the comms go quiet.

Dean doesn’t blame him – he needs to concentrate – but it’s still unnerving, knowing that Sam is out there fighting the Feds on his own.

They have more pressing things to worry about, though. “Dean!” Cas shouts from the front of the ship. Dean blinks and shakes himself, pulling his mind back into the present. Life or death situation, Feds just outside, lying in wait for them. Right.

“Coming!” he yells back, pressing the button on the base of his helmet to turn off the containment field. The air around him hisses as it decompresses, no longer being held in close to his body to give him an atmosphere. He pulls his helmet off and leaves it by the door, then runs in the direction of the cockpit.

Cas’s ship is smaller than the Impala – which makes sense, since there’s only one of him. It also means that they have a better chance of escaping the near-certain firefight that’s awaiting them outside the hold doors.

He finds Cas in the cockpit, frantically pushing buttons. He’s pulled his helmet off, and for a second, even in this situation, Dean can’t help but pause and stare. He’s even more attractive like this, his hair sticking up in every direction, jaw a sharp, tense line. The stretch of throat that Dean can see peeking out above the collar of his jumpsuit makes Dean a little weak at the knees and fuck, this is really not the time.

Dean pulls himself together, and drags the unused co-pilot’s seat up to the console to sit beside Cas. It’s an unsettling feeling, to not be in control and to be placing his life in the hands of someone who, up until a minute ago, was his rival.

Not like he has any other option, though.

“What do you want me to do, Cas?”

Castiel pauses for a brief second, and there’s a hint of surprise in his eyes as he glances over at Dean. There’s no time for him to address whatever the hell he’s thinking about, though, and he shakes his head minutely. “I’m going to need you to open the hold door when I tell you to, and then you’ll be shooting whatever the hell comes near us before it can shoot us. Understand?”

Hacking has never been Dean’s forte, but he nods anyway. He thinks he can remember what Sam’s done in the past – and besides, once he pulls up the holo-screen, he can see that Cas has already done most of the work for him. All it needs is a few lines of code, and he waits for Castiel’s signal.

Cas finishes adjusting the buttons and levers on the console, and his fingers wrap around the twin joysticks, his jaw set in grim determination.

They have to make it out of here. They _have_ to.

Dean isn’t a praying man, but as he looks over at Cas, illuminated by the dim lights of the console, and as he thinks of Sam, hopefully getting his ass outta dodge and away from the Feds, he sends a few words of hope and pleading out into the ether.

Then Castiel shouts “Now!” and everything in his brain that’s not adrenaline or instinct or fear completely disappears. Dean taps in the lines of code and hits enter, and the ship’s engines roar to life as the hold door slowly starts to open.

Immediately, another blast hits the surface of the _Diamond Horizon_ , this time close enough that Dean can see the sparks ricochet off the hold door. He swears, collapses the holo-screen, and slides his chair along to where the controls for the ship’s cannon wait.

It’s been a while since he’s used something like this – they can usually escape fights without having to use firepower – but as the door slides open further and they see the collection of smaller Fed ships waiting for them outside, Dean knows that that’s not going to be an option here.

Cas swears loudly, and Dean mentally mirrors it. It’ll take a miracle to get them out of here.

Still, if anyone has a chance of escaping the Feds, it has to be two of the best thieves in the galaxy.

“Hold on,” Cas says, his expression grim. As soon as the hold door is open wide enough, he slams forward on the joysticks, and the ship goes rocketing out of the hold and away from the ship.

It takes the Feds a second to react, and the _Diamond Horizon_ takes a few more blasts of gunfire before the ships turn their attention back on the Angel. Some of the Feds must have gone after Sam, because there aren’t as many ships around as the Recon-Bot had initially warned Dean of, but there are still enough around to present a serious challenge to Dean and Cas. The gunfire concentrates on the _Angel_ as soon as they realize just what’s going on, and then they’re fighting for their lives.

Cas sends the ship into a sharp corkscrew, curving down and away from the _Diamond Horizon_ in a bid to distance themselves from the Feds. The Federation ships follow, however, and Dean feels the juddering impact of a few blasts grazing off the _Angel’s_ body. Hopefully their shields and the ship’s reinforcement will be enough to protect them.

“Dean! The cannons!” Castiel shouts, and Dean throws himself into action. He pulls on the headset in front of him and reaches for the cannon triggers. It’s hard to distance himself from the roll and lurch of the ship as Cas tries every defensive manouevre he knows, but he’s been doing this long enough that it only takes him a few seconds to focus.

Aim through the eyepiece, account for the movement of both ships, squeeze and fire.

It becomes almost rhythmic; more so as Dean tries to forget just how perilous their situation is, as the ship rolls and warning alarms blast and Castiel swears a blue streak beside him. He takes down one ship, two, but it doesn’t seem to be enough. More replace the ones that fall, and Dean recognizes the shape of one ship as the tanker they’d passed at the port. Fuck, it really had been an elaborate plan to catch either Castiel or the Winchesters, if not both.

They _have_ to make it out of this.

They run as far as they can, slowly pulling away from the Federation ships. The _Angel_ is almost as fast as the _Impala_ , Dean would guess, which is impressive considering Dean did all the _Impala_ ’s modifications himself. His begrudging respect for Cas is growing.

No matter how far they go, though, they’re cut off, surrounded wherever they turn by ships that have circled around, or ships that are entirely new to the firefight. Cas does his best to keep them moving and out of the path of laser blasts, but there’s only so much he can do, and it soon becomes clear that they’re just running in circles.

For the first time since Dean realized they’d been set up, Dean starts to fear that they may not actually make it out of this.

Castiel, however, seems to have a plan.

“Take over the controls!” he shouts over the piercing alarm telling them they’ve almost lost one of the engines. Dean isn’t sure what he could do that Castiel hasn’t already, but this is Cas’s ship, not Dean’s, and he doesn’t hesitate in obeying. The headset is discarded, the cannons going quiet, and Dean stands from the co-pilot’s chair.

The biggest blast yet rocks the ship and sends Dean stumbling forwards, out of balance. The side of his head hits the corner of the console and he drops to the floor, nausea rising in his stomach. He can feel wetness on his temple, the slow trickle of blood down the side of his face, but he can’t let himself get distracted or pause to nurse his wound.

Dean hauls himself to his feet with hands braced on the console and drops into the vacated co-pilot’s seat. They’ve now completely lost one engine, the computer informs him.

Whatever Cas is doing, he better do it fast, because there’s zero chance of them outrunning the Feds now.

Dean works on buying them as much time as he can, dodging the ships and running them in circles. The Feds must see that they’re only firing on one engine, though, because they’ve stopped shooting, and are now working to encircle and trap the _Angel_. Fear sinks heavy in Dean’s stomach at the knowledge that they want him and Cas alive; he can only guess as to why.

“I really hope you’ve got a plan, because now’s the time!” he shouts as they narrowly spiral out of the way of a ship, only to see another rise up in front of them.

Castiel suddenly appears before Dean; his hair is wild, eyes serious, and his hands grip a boxy object, covered in connecting wires and buttons and half-finished panels. “Dean,” he says, and his voice is so serious that Dean can’t not meet his eyes just for a second, even though they’re in the middle of a firefight.

Cas places the box down on the console and stares down at it, then looks at Dean. “I’m not going to use this if you don’t want me to. It’s highly experimental, and the odds of it working are lower than the odds of it… not.”

“Fucking get to it, Cas,” Dean growls out as the ship nosedives and he fights the urge to retch, his head spinning.

Castiel takes a deep breath – how he’s so calm in the middle of this is astounding.

“I’ve been working on building it. It’s a teleporter.”

And that gets Dean’s attention.

Teleporters are restricted technology, used only by the Intergalactic Federation. Their blueprints are a closely guarded secret, and for Cas to have one so small, nothing like the huge ports used for cross-galaxy transportation…

This is their ticket out.

But, of course, it’s not that simple.

“I can’t guarantee that it will work, Dean, but… I wouldn’t be suggesting it if we had another option.”

“What happens if it works?” Dean asks, and Castiel flicks a few switches, but he won’t look at Dean, keeping his gaze down.

“It will transport us to a random set of co-ordinates – most likely within this galaxy, but with the possibility of it taking us to a complete other.”

Dean holds his breath.

“And what if it doesn’t?”

Cas doesn’t answer. Doesn’t look at Dean.

Dean blows out a long breath, his fingers trembling where they grip the joysticks.

They don’t have another choice.

He thinks of Sam, sparing a thought for his brother in the _Impala_ , praying that Dean will make it out alive, and then he sets his jaw in determination.

“Do it.”

Cas looks up at him this time, gaze burning into the side of Dean’s face. He opens his mouth, as though to double-check, to be sure, but Dean cuts him off. “I said _do it_ , Cas!”

In Dean’s peripheral vision, he sees Cas nod once, to himself. From then on, Dean’s only role is to keep them moving in the ever-shrinking ring of Fed ships that keeps closing in, closer and closer.

“You wanna hurry up there?” he grits out after a close call with two ships that almost left them boxed in. Too much more of this cat and mouse game, and the Feds are going to get tired of trying to take them alive and go back to shooting. That is definitely _not_ the outcome Dean wants.

“ _Patience_ ,” Cas growls in the deep voice of his, and then a few more seconds of fiddling, and –

“Done.”

Cas looks nervous as his hand hovers over the button, hesitating even as Dean spins the ship away from another near-collision. There’s no time for this – they make it out of here, or… whatever happens when the prototype teleporter fails to work.

“Here goes nothing,” Dean hears him whisper, only barely.

His hand comes down on the button.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean is floating.

He’s floating through time and through space, billions of atoms free in the universe, arranging and scattering again as they feel fit.

He’s everywhere and nowhere, one thousand points of consciousness in a single moment.

This transcends anything he’s ever felt before.

And then he hits the solid metal flooring of the _Angel_ ’s cockpit, and the world is spinning, and Dean is once again _Dean_ , in flesh and blood and bone.

He throws up.

Cas’s cleaning bots scurry out immediately to remove the mess, and Dean slumps fully onto the floor on his side with a weak groan. He’s had some pretty fucking bad hangovers from all the weird alcohol he’s tried, but nothing he’s ever felt could compare to this feeling of pure nausea and disconcertion.

It’s a while before he can get a grip on reality again, and longer before he can haul himself up into a sitting position. He props his back against the co-pilot’s chair.

Beside him, Cas seems to be coming to as well. He stirs from where he’s splayed out on the floor of the cockpit, groggily turning his head and pressing his palm to the ground beneath his shoulder. He rolls onto his side somewhat and blinks up at Dean for a few seconds – then his eyes go wide, and he’s hauling himself up to his feet so quickly that it makes Dean dizzy just watching him.

Teleporting with a head injury was probably not a great idea.

Dean dabs gently at the gash with his sleeve to clean up most of the blood, then turns his head to watch Cas as he pulls up a holo-screen and taps at the buttons of his console. From what he can see out the front window, even from his low vantage point on the floor, they’re on their own. There aren’t any ships nearby – it’s all just open space and stars.

“Did we get away?” he rasps, leaning his head back against the chair as the room slowly stops spinning, and he begins to regain some semblance of balance again.

“That’s what I’m trying to find out,” Castiel grits out, his shoulders tense as the quiet beeping of a proximity scan fills the cockpit. They both hold their breath.

When it comes back negative, Dean releases it in a long, relieved sigh. They got away.

He pulls himself up to his feet, one hand on the back of the chair for stability. “So where’d we actually end up?” Dean asks, trying to peer past Castiel to the co-ordinates displayed on the console.

Castiel glances back at Dean, then shifts his shoulder out of the way so Dean can see.

He lets out a long, low whistle. They’re farther out to the edges than Dean has ever been. Still, anything’s better that being surrounded by Fed ships.

“Well, at least we survived in one piece,” he mutters. At this point, Dean trusts his body enough to take the few steps to the console unsupported, and though he’s still a little wobbly, he seems to be recovering pretty quickly. Still, he props his hip against the edge of the console, just to be sure, and looks over at Castiel.

“So, what do you say we start heading back, meet up with Sam, split the cargo you managed to grab fifty-fifty and call it a day?”

Castiel had been running a diagnostic on the ship, setting his nanobots to start repairing the engine that had been damaged by the laser fire, but when Dean poses his question, he looks up, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Why the hell would I share my cargo with you? If you hadn’t noticed, we were kind of enemies up until you went waltzing into that hold and got us both caught. You didn’t do any of the work.” Cas’s lips twist in a dismissive sneer, and he goes to turn back to the console, but Dean grabs him tightly by the shoulder and spins him back around so that they’re facing each other.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he growls, his jaw clenched and anger lacing his tone. “ _I_ got us both caught? You’re the one who didn’t have _any_ kind of warning system set up! Without me, you wouldn’t have even _known_ that it was a trap, or that there were a dozen ships outside waiting to capture you! You would’ve just kept on stocking your hold with whatever the fuck you could get your hands on, until the Feds just walked in and cuffed you! You wouldn’t have even gotten your ship out of the hold without me!”

Who the fuck does Castiel – _Novak_ – think he is? Without Dean, he would be cuffed and sitting in the back of a Fed’s ship, on the way to prison, or worse.

This motherfucker should be _thanking_ Dean, not picking a fight. The least he can do is split the cargo.

But, of course, life isn’t quite that easy.

“Well _maybe_ ,” Castiel hisses, his knuckles turning white with how tightly his fists are clenched, “I would’ve had the opportunity to _actually_ steal something if some _idiot_ hadn’t started loudly trying to break into the hold’s access hatch! But no, you had to come _blundering_ in like some inexperienced fool and distract me before I could actually grab anything!”

“And that’s _my_ fault? You’re the one who wasted all that time shoving your pistol into my back when we could have been working together to grab more – wait.”

Castiel’s words properly register in Dean’s mind, and he sucks in a sharp breath, his eyes going wide with disbelief.

“You didn’t get anything from the ship?”

Castiel goes quiet, and despite the lack of space between them, his gaze slides away, and he deliberately avoids looking at Dean.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Dean shouts, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “How the fuck did you not get _anything_?”

“Because you surprised me before I had time to load anything onto my ship!”

“Then maybe you should’ve fucking worked faster before I got there!” Dean lifts his hands to shove Castiel in the chest, furious that they have nothing to show for the fact that they were _almost_ caught today.

Castiel catches him before he can make contact, his grip iron-tight around Dean’s wrists.

“You would do well to show me some respect,” he growls, and Dean bares his teeth in a sneer.

“Show you some respect? Why should I? You’re a lousy fucking thief.”

Castiel’s right hand releases Dean’s wrist, and for a second, he’s sure he’s going to get punched.

The next thing he knows, Cas is grabbing the front of his jumpsuit and hauling him in for a clashing, messy, _furious_ kiss.

Dean’s brain just about short-circuits.

Teeth nip sharply at Dean’s bottom lip and he gasps. Castiel takes that opportunity to slide his tongue into Dean’s mouth, and his other hand releases Dean’s wrist to grab his jumpsuit and haul him in closer. Dean finds himself backed up against the console, Cas’s body warm and solid and keeping him pinned in place.

He should be furious at Cas for using such an underhanded trick to distract Dean from their argument and the fact that they’ve come out empty-handed, but… he can’t find it in himself to care right at this moment. He grabs Cas’s hip with one hand to keep him close and threads the other through the man’s hair, returning the kiss with as much intensity as Cas has been putting into it. From the way he groans against Dean’s mouth and presses even closer, it’s not something he’s complaining about in the slightest.

Cas kisses how he fights; dirty and angry and _intense_.

It’s all roaming hands, clashing kisses and the firm press of Castiel’s body against his own. Dean can’t get enough of it. When they break apart for air, Dean tightens his grip in Cas’s hair and tugs his head back a little, exposing the length of his throat. Cas makes the filthiest sounds when Dean scrapes his teeth over the soft skin beneath his jaw and presses wet, open-mouthed kisses down his neck.

He doesn’t stay passive for long, though. While Dean is sucking a bruise onto Cas’s collarbone, Cas takes the opportunity to pull at the front of Dean’s jumpsuit, tugging down the zipper holding it together until it’s hanging open all the way down the front. Dean grins against Cas’s throat, then pulls back long enough to pull his arms out of the sleeves, leaving the top half of his jumpsuit barely hanging onto his hipbones.

From the way Cas leans back for a second, his gaze dark and appraising, Dean guesses that he’s a fan of the sight. He has to say the same, looking at Cas’s wild hair and kiss-bitten lips and the dark bruise that Dean has left just above his collarbone.

The feral grin Cas gives him as Dean reaches for him again only serves to spur Dean on. Getting Castiel’s jumpsuit undone while they’re kissing is a little bit of a struggle, but he manages just fine, and soon he has miles of warm, muscled skin to run his hands over. Cas shudders as Dean drags his blunt nails down his back, and drops his head to nip at the bolt of Dean’s jaw in retaliation.

It doesn’t take long at all for Dean to become fully hard, and from the way Cas is grinding against Dean, his hard length pressing into the cut of Dean’s hip, he’s not the only one.

What he isn’t expecting, though, is for Cas to grab him by the hips and spin them both around so that Cas’s back is to the console, then walk Dean backwards towards the pilot’s chair. The backs of his knees hit the edge of the seat, but the momentum and Cas’s insistent hands keep him moving, and he slumps down into the chair.

He’s not sure what he’s expecting from this turn of events, but it’s definitely not Cas sinking to his knees and pulling at Dean’s jumpsuit and boxers until they’re tangled around his thighs, his cock is standing proud against his stomach.

Cas isn’t fucking around. Dean spreads his legs wider when Cas nudges him, but otherwise he can only watch, wide-eyed and breathless, as Castiel holds his gaze, leans forward and takes his cock into his mouth.

Of all the times he imagined this, he never thought it would be with such a stunning, _infuriating_ man, splayed out in the pilot’s seat of the _Angel_ as they drift of the edges of the universe after having escaped certain capture.

Dean certainly has a vivid imagination, but he never could have captured the heat in Cas’s eyes as plush lips wrap sinfully around his cock.

Cas is definitely skilled in this – he swirls his tongue artfully along Dean’s shaft, teases it against the head and the slit, and slides his lips up and down Dean’s length as he bobs his head. It’s slowly driving Dean crazy – especially when Cas takes him down so far that his nose is almost grazing Dean’s stomach.

In an attempt to ground himself and keep himself from spiraling into pleasure any quicker, he reaches out for Cas and threads his fingers through the man’s hair. Castiel’s dark locks are soft and silky beneath his touch, and when Cas flicks his tongue against the slit, all while gazing up at Dean, he can’t help but gasp and tighten his grip.

The tug to his hair makes Cas moan, and the vibrations around Dean’s cock almost make him dizzy with how quickly he feels his orgasm rushing up towards him. He doesn’t want to come this early – doesn’t need to give Cas more ammunition to tease him about – so he darts out his free hand to grip the base of his cock, and pulls Cas off with the other.

It’s clear that Castiel is unwilling, from the way he drags his lips purposefully along Dean’s shaft, then lets the head pop free from the ‘o’ of his mouth with an obscene sound. The sight of his pink, spit-slick lips is almost too much for Dean, and he tightens his grip on his cock with a desperate, ragged groan.

“You fucker,” he gasps out. Castiel grins and bites down on his bottom lip, then leans slightly into the hand still tangled in his dark hair.

“I can be,” he says, his voice low and roughened by having Dean’s dick down his throat. “I’m flexible, though.”

Castiel _winks_ , and Dean can’t stand it any longer. He pulls Cas up by his hair, _hard_ , until the other man has no choice but to climb up into Dean’s lap.

When he settles in place, strong thighs bracketing Dean’s hips, Dean sees that he’s pushed his jumpsuit down like Dean’s, and that he has one hand wrapped around his cock, which is flushed and weeping precome.

Now _that_ , he hadn’t expected, but it’s not something he’s at all complaining about. Dean slides his hand around to the back of Cas’s head and pulls him down for a kiss, his other hand settling on Castiel’s hip. Cas’s mouth is musky and a little salty, and Dean delights in kissing the taste of himself off his tongue.

Castiel’s hips rock forward of their own volition, and they both gasp into the kiss at the friction when his cock brushes over Dean’s. “Fuck,” Cas whispers, and it might be the first slip of his composure that Dean has seen.

It’s not like he can capitalize on it, though, especially not when Castiel’s hand drops to their erections and grips them together, his cock sliding easily against Dean’s spit-slicked length. Dean’s head hits the back of the chair as he moans, and even Cas sounds a little wrecked as he thrusts into the channel of his hand.

All Dean can do is hold on for the ride, keeping one hand in Cas’s hair and sliding the other down to his ass, encouraging the rocking of his hips. It’s stunning to watch Cas come apart above him, to the point where he can’t even kiss Dean any more, can only grind against him and moan into the air, his head tipped back in pleasure.

When he comes, it’s with tense muscles and a ragged moan, spilling over his hand and across Dean’s bare stomach. Cas braces himself up with a hand on the back of the chair so that he doesn’t crush Dean, and when his other hand falls away, Dean reaches for his own cock. It only takes a few strokes until he’s falling over the edge as well with a gasp.

For a few seconds, they sit there, catching their breath and recovering a little from their respective orgasms.

Then Cas sits back against Dean’s thighs, and grins as he runs his clean hand through his already-wrecked hair.

“I guess there’s no way either of us can really be angry after that, can we?”

And, admittedly, Dean has to agree. He chuckles, and leans up to kiss Cas again.

~ 

Things between them are a lot more comfortable as they clean themselves up, all joking and amiable teasing, their touches sometimes light and occasionally not so innocent. They’re both spent for the time being, though, and Dean is content to just watch Cas, now dressed in loose pants and a t-shirt. He’s recalibrating his ship’s systems and monitoring the work of the nanobots, which, according to him, should be done soon.

In the meantime, since there are no more pressing matters of life or death, money or sex, Dean pulls his chair a little ways away and reaches for the ship’s portable comms unit. He programs in the _Impala_ ’s details from memory, then waits for Sam to (hopefully) pick up. They never accept direct communications from an unknown ship, but the interface on Dean’s helmet won’t work at such a huge distance, so he has to hope that Sam will accept his call, considering the circumstances.

When he hears the beeping tone that tells him he’s been connected, relief washes over him.

“Poughkeepsie,” he says into the microphone, and it’s like the dam has broken.

“Dean!” Sam shouts, loud enough that Cas hears him and looks over at Dean, the corners of his lips curling up into a smile. “What the fuck, are you okay? Why did you wait so long to contact me? How did you get away, what happened with Novak?”

“Slow down there, dude,” Dean tells him, leaning back in the chair and rubbing at his now-healed forehead, care of an enhanced plaster from Cas’s medical stores. “One thing at a time.”

He leans back in his chair and presses the comms’ speaker to his ear, idly watching Cas as he returns to his work. “Firstly, I’m okay, and so is Cas. We almost didn’t make it out of there, though, they had us surrounded. I had to put all my faith in this prototype teleporter Cas had been working on, and it’s a miracle that it spat us out at all, let alone intact.”

Dean pinches the bridge of his nose; Sam isn’t going to be too happy about this next part. “He didn’t get a chance to take anything before we had to go, though, and neither did I, so we’ve come up from all that empty handed.”

Sam is silent for a long time, and when he finally speaks, his tone is one of suspicion, and it’s definitely not what Dean is expecting him to say. “’Cas’?” he asks.

 _Fuck_.

“Yeah,” Dean hedges, feeling a blush rise in his cheeks. “You know. Castiel. Cas. He’s… an okay dude.”

Castiel must definitely be eavesdropping, because Dean catches the barest hint of a grin as he turns his focus to something else on the console. Nosy fucker.

Sam is still silent, and it’s beginning to unnerve Dean – until suddenly something seems to click, and he exclaims, “Dean! What the fuck? Did you sleep with him?” 

Sometimes his little brother is too damn perceptive for his own good. It’s definitely time for him to finish up this call. “That’s none of your business, Sammy,” Dean replies with a grin. Before Sam can retort, Dean barrels on. “We’ll meet up with you eventually, okay? The usual meeting place. For now, though, I gotta go. Take care of baby, don’t go running her into any asteroids.”

And with that, he cuts off the communications link.

Castiel turns to grin at him properly this time, leaning back against the console and folding his arms. “You have a very perceptive brother,” he says, and Dean laughs.

“Yeah, well, one of us has to be smart, otherwise we both would’ve ended up in jail by now.” Dean drags his chair back towards the console, so that he’s right beside Cas as he fires up the engines and does a final check of all the systems.

“Looks like everything’s good to go,” Castiel points out as he collapses his holo-screen and turns towards Dean. “You want to enter the co-ordinates of the place we’re meeting Sam?”

Dean has only just reached for the keyboard when the main comms unit crackles to life.

 _Solar flare has disrupted the systems of automated ship_ Abbadon _at co-ordinates 41, 1047, 934. Intergalactic Federation notified and responding_.

They share a glance, and simultaneously break into matching grins. Dean pulls the keyboard closer to enter in the _Abbadon_ ’s co-ordinates.

“We got time.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys all enjoyed this, because I know I loved writing it! Please leave comments or kudos if you liked it, they make my little writer heart very happy. Come find me on [Tumblr](http://saltnhalo.tumblr.com), and if you'd like to read more of my fics in the future, you can subscribe to my AO3 [here](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltnhalo)!


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